


bruno is orange

by nekrowmancy



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Slow Burn, akechi is in purgatory, not royal reliant, slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekrowmancy/pseuds/nekrowmancy
Summary: did you hear about that mother?broke her daughter's legs in twoand said,"it's too dangerous out there to walk,so i had to save you"
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	bruno is orange

By the time Goro's lungs heave out their last breath and shove out the last shrivel of blood from his weakened, melted bones, he is ready to die. His back is pressed to the cold, hard metal of the engine room floor, his gloved hands searching for purchase against the cracked tile of such a pitiful, pitiful grave. Head lolling over, his brain swarms with anger that he moved, but the only thing he can produce is a wheeze in poor replacement of a measly response to himself -- to the situation, maybe. Thinking back on it, he seriously cannot convince himself that he saw this coming, and, while he didn't, he also cursed himself for not predicting it. Before he allows himself to sink into the bitter inner turmoil and endless arguments over his uselessness, he shakes the thoughts away, deciding that it was a stupid topic to dwell on. Either way, he's still lying here, in a puddle of his blood, finger tracing a crack in the tile.

Such a waste, he thinks, eyes memorizing the shapes and patterns in the wall that sealed him off from the Phantom Thieves. Upon the thought of them -- of him -- landing in his mind, his chest stings with an emotional pain that battled the bullet gently tucked into his ribs, between his warm lungs, and under his throbbing, selfish heart. It was time to go, he sighs, the bones of his eye sockets sore with tiredness and bitterness and everything else that landed under those categories. It was time to go, and he would not entertain their egos and think of them in his final moments. That would be horribly ironic, and horribly dreadful. Horrible, horrible, horrible.

He closes his eyes, but not because he is necessarily ready to go. Goro liked to think he had a lot to accomplish, still, such as killing Shido with his own hands, but because of his stupid, stupid decisions, he was stuck on this glue trap of a floor, laminating his bones, his hair, his skin, and his clothes in his sticky blood. He closes his eyes because they hurt, and because they're heavy, and he's afraid they'll just pop out of his head and roll away if he keeps them open. He closes his eyes because he's tired. He closes his eyes because they hurt, and because he's tired.

When he opens them again, he's not in the engine room anymore. The lighting is different, he notes, his eyes stinging but with renewal and not with death. The overhead light is stale, but bright, with a fluorescent buzzing that is tuned into a fly's harmony as it dances around the ceiling. Goro's jaw tightens, eyes trained on the ceiling light and the fly. He knows where he is. He's not ready to look. He's not ready to accept it.

Goro has decided that he is, in fact, dead. He supposes that his stubbornness could only carry him through life so far before dropping him at death's door, no longer having the energy to fight back his suicidal wishes and instead laid next to him in the grave, fingers entangled. Body no longer heavy, fingers no longer gloved, nails no longer caked with dirt and blood, skin no longer sweaty and damp and warm. A cool breeze coats his bare arms (which admittedly was a relief, the engine room felt like a tropical forest), and he glances down quickly, noting that he was in a white t-shirt, and though his legs were covered by a blanket, he can make out the vague texture and fabric of sweatpants. He can feel his fingers squeeze stubbornness' hand.

What a cruel thing, death was, Goro hums in his brain, closing his eyes again. If he doesn't look, it will go away. He will be somewhere else. Somewhere that isn't his childhood bedroom.

"Do you not like it?" comes a soft whisper from somewhere to the right of him.

A rock drops into his stomach. Of course death would not show him mercy. He did not deserve it when he was alive, why would it come to him now? His fingers twitch with shock as a hand falls upon his. Keep your eyes closed. It will go away. He will be somewhere else. 

"I tried really hard to make it comforting," she explains, voice gentle, quiet, and lathered with concern, sadness, pain. Keep your eyes closed. It will go away. He will be somewhere else. "Wasn't this the last place where everything was okay? Before everything happened?"

Goro's lip wobbles. He feels like a child. "Mom?"

Keep your eyes closed. It will go away. He will be somewhere else. 

"Goro," she breathes out, her hand lifting off of his, her palm cupping his cheek where a tear races down. Her thumb, soft, warm, soft, warm -- collects it. 

Keep your eyes closed. It will go away. He will be somewhere else.

He will be somewhere else.

When he wills his eyes open, he's no longer in that dreadful room. Instead, he's in his living room, watching the new Featherman episode that released that morning. The new ones always air on Sundays, and part of him kicks himself from nodding off in the middle of it. His friends will be talking about it tomorrow, so he should ask his mom about recording it so he can watch it from the beginning. Goro likes to know all the details about the Featherman episodes, and his friends like that he knows, too. Pushing himself up from the mat in the floor, he climbs up into a stand, knees popping as he waddles into the kitchen.

At the stove, his mom is swaying, hair long, hair beautiful, soft, and he reaches out to grab onto it, liking the silkiness of each strand under his fingers. She jolts, spinning with the spatula in her hand, face red and flustered. Her angry expression causes him to flinch, hand suspended in mid-air, and her look softens.

"You scared me!" she laughs, the noise bubbling from her lips, and Goro grins stupidly. 

"What are you making?" he asks, stepping to the side to poke his nose over the stove and peer at the food in the pan. 

"Pancakes," she hums, getting back to the rhythm of swaying, her brown eyes studying the bubbles as they rise to the middle of the batter. She takes the spatula and slides it under the pancake, flipping it, and the impact causes raw batter to fling onto Goro's nose. 

A gasp flies from his lungs, which quickly turns into a giggle as Goro turns to face his mom, very proud of the new companion sitting on his face. She mocks surprise, jealousy, and then dips her finger into the mixing bowl to swipe up batter and plant it on her own nose. Now they match. Excitement bursts in his veins, and he grabs the bowl from her hands, fingers gliding into the mix to press the batter onto his face, her face, his hands, his shirt, his body, and eventually, the floor. 

She makes more. They watch Featherman and eat the raw batter and split one burnt pancake. That night, their stomachs hurt. Goro thinks its worth it. He thinks he wouldn't trade it for the world. 

The morning after, he asks for more pancakes.

"No, I'm sorry," his mom croaks from her spot in her bed, turning to look away from him. "We used up the rest of the mix."

"Can't we go to the store to buy more?" he asks, hands idling by the nightstand as he fumbles with an envelope with scary red lettering on the front of it.

"No." Her answer is short. She sounds tired. 

"Why not?"

"We just can't, Goro."

"But why?"

She sits up quickly, hand reaching out to grab the arm that fiddled with the mail, her grip tight and suffocating his veins. _"Because I said so."_

Goro freezes, socked feet sinking into the carpet, fear holding him in place. Tears well up in his eyes, his lip wobbles, and he whispers, "This isn't real, is it?"

Her furious expression fades. "No."

"How did I get here?"

"I don't know."

Goro cries. He cries, and cries, and cries, and cries. He cries so hard his head hurts. He cries so hard he's afraid he will use up all the tears in his lifetime. All she does is hold his wrist and watch, unmoving, silent, and she doesn't blink once.

He opens his eyes again to find himself stepping off the train. Some grown part of his brain theorizes this was a few months after the pancake debacle. 

That day his friends pestered him about Featherman and the new episode and what happened to Red. Red and his friends and Red and his happy life and Red not knowing about the curse of Black's existence. Black was depicted as a smudge on the plot, and the boys excitedly discussed with Goro what his purpose was in the show and how Red and Black would react if they ever met. There seemed to be a large buildup to it, he notes, and Goro posed a theory that perhaps they would meet and Red would convince Black to be not-evil and they would be happy as friends. The other boys weighed in and said that would be lame, and then hoped there would be an epic battle between them. This spurs into a heated debate about what the battle would look like. Black was a new character, anyway, and it's not like they knew his abilities. 

Goro waves goodbye to his friends as the train pulls away from the station and jets off down the railroad. The walk home was quiet, simple, and warm. A breeze hugs him and carries him along his usual path, like it always does, and Goro stops to pick a flower (his mom calls it a "weed") from the sidewalk, like he always does, and holds it in his fist with purpose. This was his every day routine; he gets off the train, he walks home, he delivers a wild flower to his mom. 

Small legs carry him up the apartment complex steps, small fingers punch in the numbers on the number pad above the knob, and small lips sing a tune as he walks in. He removes his small shoes from his small feet, takes two small steps, and his small socks soak in a puddle of water. Goro looks down. The living room mats were covered in water, lots of it, and he tilts his head as he follows the stream down the hallway. 

He stops at the bathroom door. It's not exactly closed, but not open either, a crack in the door bleeding light from the window and shooting down the hall and onto Goro's confused face. A hand lifts to push on it, the door creaking quietly, the movement seeming to go in slow motion as he takes in the sight before him.

The bathtub is full, the water is pouring over the sides, the faucet is still running, and the water, he comes to realize, is a vibrant red. It warps and twirls in the water like a drop of ink. His eyes watch it, then lift upwards, slowly, and his expression warps into horror as he spots the mop of brown hair hanging over the side with a head of lifeless eyes and a parted mouth staring up at the ceiling. 

Goro drops the flower and it floats all the way back to the living room. 

"Why did you show me this again?" he whimpers, "Why did you make me look at this? You know this one was the worst. This is hell."

"I'm sorry," his mom speaks from beside him, not at all sounding sorry, but his eyes stay glued to her body in the tub. "I'm sorry. I had to tell you how awful the world was. I'm sorry."

"Why like this?" he whispers, fingers limp and his legs sinking into the floor. "Why?"

"You wouldn't have believed me otherwise."

Well, as hurtful as it was, she was right. Goro was rather naive as a kid, bursting with life and happiness and a positive attitude so nauseating that even his mother couldn't stand it. One evening she had come home from work, excited over being paid a bonus, and offered to take Goro to the toy store. There, he was overjoyed; he wanted everything. It had been a while since he had gotten something new, and he wasn't a very materialistic child, but any kid would be happy at the prospect of new toys. They spent almost an hour in there while Goro dove and dug and trudged through aisle after aisle, loving everything he saw but not asking for any of it.

Until he found it. 

A toy ray gun sitting on a high shelf with pristine packaging. The last of its kind. 

"Mommy!" he gasps, hands reaching upwards. "That! I want that!"

She laughs, plucking it off the shelf, "This?"

"Yes!" he enthuses, the toy gun in his hands, his fingers wrapping around its shape. "It looks just like the one Black has. Black from Featherman."

"The villain?"

"Black can stay the villain. I want to be a hero."

At the cash register, the worker scans the price. He lists off a number too big for Goro to remember immediately, but his mom's face was unforgettable. She swallows, thick, and then bends down to tell him quietly that they can't afford it because it was a lot more than her bonus check and it would cut into money for groceries. He didn't understand -- of course he didn't. He told her that it was fine and she could spend all the next money on groceries and that he would be happy forever. Money was temporary to him; this ray gun meant more than its value. 

She was frustrated, upset, but she understood. They went home with the toy ray gun. Goro has fun with it for approximately 2 hours before it breaks and they have to throw it away. His mom cried herself to sleep out of frustration over the lost money, and though he listened to her sobs, he never knew it was because of him. 

A few days after she killed herself, Goro found himself planted in a seat in the school counselor's office. 

"Goro?" the counselor tilts her head, "Are you with me?"

"Sorry," he says, fingers picking at a loose thread on the seat. "I was in another memory." 

"I know," she says, pen tapping her notepad. "The one in the toy store? Don't you like that one?"

He nods. "It's rather peaceful." 

"Because it was a time before everything happened," she says.

"Because it was a time when everything was good," he confirms, his eyes landing on a ladybug calendar over her shoulder.

"You can't stay here forever."

"Here?"

"You have to talk to her eventually." 

"I don't want to."

"Akechi." Her voice is hurtful.

"Why did she leave me alone? Why did she kill herself? Why the fuck do I have to fucking stay behind and clean up her stupid, shitty life and deal with her stupid, shitty child and why the fuck did I get stuck with the fucking blame of being a stupid little child with a deadbeat dad and why the fuck did I have to suffer while she got to run away like a fucking coward? Why was I stuck with the sad story?"

Goro hops out of the chair, a little boy again, and brushes his hair out of his eyes. "I should get going back to class. Thank you for talking to me."

"You know that's not how this conversation really happened, Akechi," the counselor says from her spot. "We sat here in silence while you cried like a baby for 40 minutes before you left. Clearly you have things you need to say to her if you're willing to fudge your own memories."

Goro closes the door on his way out. 

His eyes open. He is back in his room. His mom is sitting next to him. Her hand is over his. 

"You're back with me," she whispers. 

Goro, now eighteen, sits up in bed and pulls his hand away. She looks mildly hurt. That is only a fraction of the hurt he feels right now. 

"Do you know what it does to a child to have to call the police to collect your mother's corpse from your bathroom?" he starts, voice low, scarily steady. She looks down in shame. Goro gets up, walks to his dresser, and picks up some of the notes left behind that she used to put in his lunch. Small 'I love you!'s and 'Have a great day, love!'s seared into his skin, branding him with pain and trauma. 

"No," she responds, voice shaking, hands squeezing themselves. Her knuckles are white from anxiety. Good. 

"Why did you leave me there?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was in so much pain. I was so tired. Every day was the same. I woke up. I made breakfast. I went to work. I went home. I went to bed. Every day. There was no end to it. I couldn't take it anymore," she manages, her voice constricting and a tear rolling down her cheek. Goro looks away from the pitiful sight. 

"What about me?" he whispers, picking up one of the notes and squeezing it harshly between his fingers. "Didn't you love me?"

"Of course I did," she stands quickly, reaching out to grab his elbow. He pulls away, angry. 

"Then why?" he hisses, crushing up the note in an iron grip. She shakes her head. She looks so, so sad.

Her hand reaches out for his elbow again. Goro lets her take it. "Love cannot heal mental illness, Goro. I always loved you. You were the best part of my days. When I was working I couldn't wait to see you. When I went home I couldn't wait for you to get off the train. Your flowers, the weeds, they were so wonderful. You made me feel so loved. So wanted."

"I wasn't enough for you."

At his words, she flinches, her fingers dropping away. Goro continues. "You snapped at me. You were always in bad moods. You flushed my flowers, the fucking weeds, you flushed them down the toilet. When you got home you laid in bed. When I got off the train I made myself dinner. I watched TV by myself. I sat in the living room and waited for you but you had always drunken yourself into a hazy stupor to cover the fact that you were suffering and you were ashamed. It got to a point where I could never tell if you were sober or drunk."

A hiccup comes from her. She's crying. "I'm sorry, Goro. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You will never understand how sorry I am."

Goro scoffs, drops the crumpled note onto the floor, and walks over to the door. Upon trying to open it, however, he discovers that it is, in fact, locked, and he has no way of getting out of this conversation. He looks around the room, spots the window, and tries to open it, too. It does not budge. 

"So, is this purgatory?" he asks, looking back over at his mother, who has well gotten over her spout of sadness, but is shocked to see he is talking to her still. She shakes her head. 

"Goro," she mumbles, reaching out to take his hand. "I'm so sorry."

He allows his shoulders to sag. "I know." 

"Please forgive me."

Sitting on the bed, he huffs with great thought, the water of thinking rising to his knees. "I'm not sure if I will ever be able to forgive you. But I know it isn't your fault. Shido left you, you couldn't afford to raise me, couldn't even afford to take care of yourself. I will never blame you for your circumstances, however, taking your life was your choice. You hurt many people with that decision. You can regret it all you want, but it doesn't change what happened."

She looks like she was kicked in the teeth. He sighs.

"But don't ever forget that I will always love you. I always have. You tried your best. You tried so hard." Goro pulls her into a hug. "I will never hate you for that." 

Her arms wrap around him, and he breathes in her perfume, feels her warmth on his head, hears her heart beating in his ear. The moment was one he would surely never forget, but it's not like it mattered much anyway, considering he's dead, and these memories would be just as farce as the ones he went through and altered moments beforehand. 

"I have to go," she sniffles, and she pulls away. Her hands cup his face, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of his head, and she whispers "I love you, Goro. Put an end to this sad story."

Goro opens his eyes to an empty room. He feels the loss of her all over again, and he cries, and cries, and cries, and cries, until he feels like his head is going to explode.


End file.
